


the reckoning comes for you

by aetherpunk



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Demons, God - Freeform, Internalized Homophobia, Kinda, M/M, Magical Girls, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Real names used, Religion, Religious Camp, Religious Guilt, Supernatural Elements, unreality, we know the devil au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 11:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aetherpunk/pseuds/aetherpunk
Summary: love is a place where your innocence goes when it dies...phemiec, daughter of god✤✤✤Group West was tired of spending their summer in a miserable religious camp where they couldn't even be themselves. It was their final week in the Summer Scouts; surely they could manage to get home in one piece. Clay can't stand the number of hands reaching to him. Nick hates the way the eyes stare at him when they make a mistake. George was sick at the thought of having to hold his tongue much longer.✤✤✤we know the devil au.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 36





	the reckoning comes for you

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much to [ihaveamigrane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihaveamigrane/) and [psuburbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psuburbs) for helping me beta this!
> 
>  **trigger warnings for this chapter;**  
>  religion / christianity. (it is going to be a common theme throughout this story. if that makes you uncomfortable, i suggest clicking off.)  
> a bit of unreality and supernatural elements. minimal in this chapter, but there will be more in the future.
> 
> if the content creators involved or the devs of we know the devil want this taken down, this fic will be deleted!

✤✤✤

Hate was such a strong word. Such a strong, powerful, _mean_ word, and yet it still managed to take a hold of someone and course through their veins with every beat of their heart. 

Clay _hated_ the way that the humid air stuck to his skin, mosquitos buzzing close enough to make his ears ring, but not close enough for him to reach out and clap his hands around them. He took a moment to roll his jacket sleeves up to his elbows, trying to ignore how clammy his hands were. He felt gross. He probably looked gross, too. 

Being in the Summer Scouts sucked incredibly.

The camp’s cabins creaked as a result of old age and poor maintenance, and if you didn’t light your candles the smell of rotting wood would creep in and suffocate you in the middle of the night. The food was disgusting, worse than the raw meat served at public school, always with unbalanced consistency and flavours that didn’t sit in your mouth right. The counsellors never stopped singing about Jesus, and they were rude as shit. No matter how nicely the Scouts asked, they never let them have a transformation sequence. It was bullshit.

They couldn’t wait for the week to pass when the three were finally home in their beds. They wouldn’t have to think about what they do or do not deserve, and they could leave cleaning up after the devil to someone else. 

Clay stumbles a bit as he walks, almost face planting into the dirt as his shoe catches on a root. He barely manages to catch himself, scraping his knee against the ground. He holds his leg and groans in annoyance.

Clay almost forgot that he wasn’t walking alone when he heard the voice of his friend behind him.

“Oh my god, are you okay?!” Nick cried, running to Clay’s side. The younger reached down to help Clay, and then immediately retracted. He was unsure how to help; if he should help at all.

“Oh, yeah,” Clay forced a smile, “I’m alright. Totally good.” He muttered a curse as he stood, his leg threatening to give out underneath him. Clay pushed through it anyway. 

“Are you sure? I mean, you almost ate shit, man.”

Clay waved a dismissive hand at Nick. “Nah, it’s nothin’. I’m okay.”

The voice of an unimpressed brit made Clay tense.

“You could have died,” George’s tone was dry, but he meant it in a joking, sarcastic way. Clay was sure of it.

“Look, guys, I promise that I am still, 100%, completely alive.” 

Nick shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “If you insist…”

George took his hand from his pocket and brought his phone out with it. “If you bleed out, I’m calling 911.”

Clay laughed lightly, “I won’t.”

George looked up at the blond. “Please, do. Take me with you.”

Clay was good at a lot of things, more than being able to sustain an injury and pretend like pain didn’t pulse through him every time he took a step. He’d been hurt worse before, he’d think. He remembered his days in high school, where he had been bodied by other football players and crushed by their weight until he couldn’t breathe. Spraining his wrist was most definitely more painful than scraping his knee on a stupid _rock._ Thinking about high school made him start to reminisce, thinking of the autumn semesters where he would rock 95s and 98s as overall class grades and easily rise above his classmates; not that he thought of it as a challenge, just that he liked being seen as _the smart one._ Clay liked to think that he was the perfect role model.

...If you were to ignore how he flunked on state-required tests, how he blanked on the final question, how he always missed the winning goal.

Clay reached up and ran a hand through his blond hair in an attempt to stop it from sticking to his forehead from sweat. He kept his hand in his hair for a moment, trying to calm his initial frustration with the weather. It works, for a minute, until he begins to feel phantom hands dig into his scalp and pinch at his arms. He pulls his hand from his hair and snaps the hair tie around his wrist. 

Clay looked up to the sky, trying to find where the sun was and calculate the time. Clouds obscured his view, so he resorted to peeking over George’s shoulder to look at the time on his phone.

“Are we late already?” he asked, looking between the two of them.

Nick furrows his brows. “I thought we left pretty early, how could we be late?”

With a huff, Clay crosses his arms. “Yeah, but we’ve been walking for _forever._ ” 

“Really? I don’t think so,” Nick looks at the sky as well, frowning as he sees the sun hiding away. “...Maybe.”

“We’re not late already, are we?” Clay repeats.

The brunet beside them glances at his phone, and then around the campsite. “We are absolutely late. It’s 6:06.”

Clay groans in agony. He thinks about what the counsellors might say, and shivers.

“I told you,” George gloats, looking back at his phone. 

\---

**Message from BadBoyHalo received at 6:05 PM.**

**BAD: >** how much longer are you in the summer scouts for?

**GEORGE:** > another week. fuck my life, man. this is the worst.

**BAD: >** HEY. language >:(

 **BAD: > **i will pray for you!!! hoping the best <3

**GEORGE:** > stop giving me false hope

 **GEORGE:** > i am genuinely sorry for my miserable life.

**BAD: > **happy hunting!!! stay safe

**GEORGE:** > fuck off

\---

Clay’s voice pulls George away from his messaging. He slips his phone back into his pocket.

“We’re close. We have to be,” Clay mutters.

Nick listens for the sound of _something_ that would tell them where they are. He hears nothing. “It’s gotta be fine, as long as we’re not the last ones there.”

George shoots a pointed look at Nick. “We are most definitely going to be the last ones there. _No one_ had to do the bullshit that we just did, so I’m sure they’re all already there.”

Nick watches George roll his eyes and frowns. He wants George to open up, he really does. He notices when George has words forming on his tongue and promptly swallows them, pulling out his phone and typing something instead. Nick assumed that George just didn’t want them to worry, for as long as they didn’t have to. Part of him pondered if maybe George’s goal was to just screw them over and let them get in trouble, but he tried to see the brighter in the oldest. It didn’t matter _too_ much though, because George’s sense of humour almost always managed to send Nick into hysterical fits of laughter. 

Truthfully, George didn’t look in any way like he was supposed to be here. But that was exactly why he was here, of course. Just like Nick had thought, George starts to say something, but it catches in his throat and he coughs instead.

Nick’s eyes brighten at the sight of a light in the distance. He points at it, beaming excitedly. “Over there!”

Clay glances at Nick, and then in the direction of where they were pointing. He squints. “Where?”

The brightness in the raven haired’s eyes dulled slightly. “Don’t you see it? That light over there.” 

Clay furrows his brows and turns to Nick with a concerned expression. “I don’t see anything…”

“What do you mean you don’t see anything? It’s right there!” Nick blinks, looking back and forth between the taller blond and the light in the distance. 

George coughs roughly, diverting both of their attention to him. He looks at them, deadpan, and shakes his head.

“It’s over here.” The brunet says, before heading off in a different direction.

✤✤✤

And there’s the bonfire. Scouts that George had no interest in getting to know sat crowded around it, different groups squishing to fit onto the damp logs or sitting on the ground next to it when there wasn’t room. At the head of the campfire stood The Bonfire Captain, glasses covered in ash and smoke from the fire and burning incense, so one could never really see the love in his eyes when he sang praise for Our Lord and Savior. George rolled his eyes at the thought. 

Clay muttered under his breath as they approached the billowing smoke. “We aren’t late, right?” 

George shot him a pointed glare. Nick gulped.

The Bonfire Captain, Wilbur, looked at them and smiled. George couldn’t tell if it was too genuine or too forced. “Oh, look! Group West is finally here!” he hums, tapping his guitar. “Kind of early for you lot, huh?”

The shortest glanced back and forth between his group members. They both were forcing nervous smiles, and it made George’s bored expression stick out like a sore thumb.

Wil gave a small chuckle, looking from Group West to the other gathered members. He looked at George, and George wished he had the ability to look into his eyes and know what he was thinking. 

“I uh… I didn’t hear you three _swearing,_ did I?” Wilbur asks. 

Clay shakes his head immediately. “No, sir.”

“No-sir.” Nick’s words are crammed together, and he winces at his own voice. He just wants to sit down already. 

George rolls his eyes. He pulls his phone from his back pocket and checks it. “Nah.”

Wilbur laughs, strumming a chord on his guitar absentmindedly. “Sure you weren’t!” His tone was far too cheery, in George’s opinion. 

“We weren’t! Promise!” Nick insists, balling his fists. He thinks no one sees it.

“Oh,” Wilbur hums, “I believe _you,_ Nick. It’s the other ones that I’m hesitant to trust.”

Nick smiles in a way that makes George want to punch him a little, but it’s all it takes for everyone to even forget they were late in the first place. Nick can laugh and smile like an idiot through anything, and as long as everyone could endure secondhand embarrassment, they were fine. He always laughed or smiled, even when he was feeling extremely anxious about something. George assumed it was a coping mechanism of some sort, although he wouldn’t pry into what for. 

He didn’t realize that Wilbur had walked up to them until the Captain was in front of him. He reached out and nodded towards the phone placed in George’s hand. Begrudgingly, George handed the Bonfire Captain his phone. Wilbur smiled brightly. “Everyone can sit down now!”

Wilbur reaches in the backpack set by his stump seat and pulls out more incense, throwing it into the fire. The sickly sweet scent mixes with the smell of smoke and burning wood and it sucks and George hates it. It’s an awful blend, the lot of it. Termite-eaten wood from old abandoned churches near the campsite cracked and burned at awkward angles, and there was always someone who had to readjust the tower of wood because one piece threatened to snap and send the whole thing crumbling; the dried daylilies shrivelled at the heat, not used to the harsh temperatures in comparison to the deserted country roads; the singed wire from the radios didn’t even melt properly; dubious apologies burnt in the smoke as well; dust from monsters of the week mixed easily enough with the ashes of the blazing wood. It was awful, no matter what.

Nick sits with their legs crossed, trying to take up as little space as possible. It doesn’t do much. George remains mercilessly deadpan, watching the other groups like they were some sort of entertainment. Clay pulls his legs up to his chest and rests his chin on his knees, a statement about how good he was at posture. Not that he cared; he liked to stay comfortable. He liked the security of holding his whole body. There’s a perfect balance of usefulness and accountability amongst the young. That’s what made the Summer Scouts good at what they do.

The Bonfire Captain plays a little ditty on his guitar. “Everyone having a good time?” He asked, in a sing-songy voice.

No one is, not in Group West. They’re tired and don’t have the energy to fake it. They look amongst each other, and then back to Wilbur, who has not gotten a response from the other groups either.

He forces a smile. “I said, Is everyone having a good time?” He repeats, a bit more sternly and less sing-songy, but still cheery.

The Bonfire Captain could be motivating when he wanted to be.

“I SAID,” he shouted so loudly that birds fled from their nests, “IS EVERYONE HAVING A _GOOD TIME™_?”

And he does not quit until everyone puts as much effort into faking it as he does. 

Group West, along with the other groups, all gave some form of agreement. Wilbur’s smile settled back onto his face. This is bullshit.

He must’ve noticed George’s eye roll or the way that he sighed harshly because he looked over to where they sat. 

“Still a bit quiet in the West,” he comments, a smug grin dancing across his face. 

George mutters a string of curses, wishing that he could turn invisible. “Fuuuuuck that guy,” he mutters, audible enough so only Clay and Nick could hear him.

Clay snorted, covering his mouth. George tried not to notice how his eyes scrunched when he smiled.

Nick chuckled too, before roughly elbowing George in the side and shushing him.

When Wilbur starts to pick at the strings again, strumming a stupid song about The Lord, George has to restrain himself from diving across the firepit and fistfighting the Captain. None of the counsellors talk as much as Wilbur. They wonder if Wilbur feels like because he’s in charge, he has to be the one who gives all of the sermons. Although, they also know that all of the other counsellors wish they were somewhere else as much as the Scouts do. 

After he finishes his little song about God, Wilbur starts talking. 

“You know, when I was the same age as you guys, I didn’t have many friends either.”

George looks around the fire and catches Clay doing the same, at the other groups. At each other. At Nick. 

“I guess I got into a fair share of fights, but… I had a couple of guys that I was best friends with. We always stuck up for each other, y’know? And whenever my dad asked me if I wanted to bring one of my friends over, I’d tell him ‘I want to bring _both_ of them.’ I thought I was doing this _great thing,_ not holding one of my friends over the other.”

Clay nods. That seemed like common sense.

“But secretly,” Wilbur trailed off, stopping the soft strum of his guitar briefly, “I thought one of them was kind of annoying. And he kind of was, not going to lie to you all. He would _whine,_ and he didn’t always go along with us. I honestly felt pretty bad for him, so I would always try and be a better friend. To try and make up for it, you know? I thought that if I could work _even harder,_ I’d be able to make up for him.”

Eventually, he picked back up the tune, playing a song that almost felt familiar. Almost. It was slightly out of tune. “In actuality, I wasn’t helping him at all. You wouldn’t have thought it- Or at least, _I_ wouldn’t have thought it- but he was the one who ended up getting into some real deep trouble. Y’know, I probably could have stopped it, if I had told the guy to get over himself instead of doing the opposite.”

George wondered why they were still talking about this. He wondered why they needed to know all of this pointless Bonfire Captain lore.

“Some friendships, you can keep up.” Whatever song he was playing slowly came to a close. “The rest of them? You have to leave up to God.”

Oh. So that’s why.

George claps his hands against his face to suppress the sound of him groaning in agony. “Christ. How long will this go on?” 

Nick taps the log they sat on. “Do you guys think we’ll be going to the cabin tonight?”

Clay glances around before shaking his head. “Probably not. I don’t think so.”

George glares at Clay. “Your optimism is astounding. There is no mercy in this world, Clay.”

“I mean, it’s our last week at camp, and they still haven’t sent us there yet. It’s gotta be us next.” Nick thinks out loud.

George shoots daggers at Wilbur, who was conversing with a blond from Group North. “And that asshole has it in for us so bad.”

Clay smiles. “I dunno. I’m feeling optimistic this time.” He leans back against the air, putting his feet down and crossing one leg over the other. “Maybe we won’t have to go this time.”

Nick furrows his brows together and looks at Clay, and then at George.

“Yeah, wait, why?” George asks, seemingly reading Nick’s mind. Clay tries to stutter out a response, but George cuts him off swiftly. “Seriously, why would you ever think that?”

“Hey there, Group West!”

Wilbur’s voice stops any forming argument, along with any conversation that may have been happening prior. Everyone looks at Group West. Nick wants to shrivel up. Clay doesn’t like everyone’s eyes boring into his skin. George wants to throw up.

“Feel like meeting the devil tonight?”

✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤✤

**Author's Note:**

> comment below with the character you want to see the most of! 
> 
> these are your options:  
> >clay  
> >george  
> >nick
> 
> thank you for reading!


End file.
